


Winds Blow From Times Past

by turps



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: Found Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:47:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2236266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Groot will come back. </p><p>Some know that for sure. Some have reservations, but deep down, all of them hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winds Blow From Times Past

**Author's Note:**

> As always thank you to themoononastick for beta reading, and to egelantier for encouragement.

The concept of death is alien to Groot. Logically he knows what it means. It’s impossible not to after a lifetime of travelling the stars, stopping off at planets and observing other species for whom life has beginning and end. 

But for Groot that doesn’t matter. How can it when you’re constantly evolving, growing at all times and reforming when needed? How can you understand death when your life is one without end? 

Groot can grow his body, can feel the wind through his branches, can set seeds and know that all around, new life will begin.

Begin not end -- because Groot’s life doesn’t end. Until now. When he’s surrounding his friends, keeping them safe in the vacuum of space. Branches entwined and meshed tight, a living shield as they plummet towards ground.

And abruptly, Groot knows this is the end. 

There’s no chance of seeds spawning. No regrowing of limbs. Just a blankness hurtling ever closer, all potential life about to be smothered and destroyed due to one last, desperate chance.

Groot should be afraid, but he isn’t. 

Instead he’s content, at peace, knowing this is the right thing to do.

How can you be afraid when you end your life protecting your friends?

~*~*~*~

Rocket’s spent his life fighting. Against those that remade him; his body torn from his control, modified, changed, experimented on, fucked up in so many ways. He’s an anomaly in the universe, one of the kind, and while he tries to embrace that -- to show that he’s awesome, the best at all times -- the truth is, often it’s hard.

Too small. Too furry. Too _everything_ and Rocket’s become used to facing things down. He’s learned to hide fear. To laugh and joke and pour scorn. He’s brash and loud and annoying -- and deep down, in the place he keeps hidden, he can admit that he’s scared.

But at least he’s not lonely, hasn’t been for a while. Because somehow, Groot fell into Rocket’s life, and just wouldn’t leave. Not for want of Rocket trying to push him away. Rocket didn’t want a friend. He especially didn’t want a friend that was a sentient tree with a vocabulary of three words. That was just annoying. Until it wasn’t at all.

When Groot stuck around despite Rocket constantly running, when Rocket became used to looking behind him and seeing Groot follow. With that ever changing body and leaves that got stuck in Rocket’s tail fur but mostly, that smile. 

Rocket can never forget that smile, the one that spoke more than words always. The one that said: friend.

It’s why Rocket’s doing this now, claws covered in dirt and touch gentle as he carefully plants a piece of Groot in a pot. It’s something that shouldn’t work. Groot nothing more than blasted apart bark, twigs and fibers, no life left at all.

At least, that’s what others may see. Rocket doesn’t agree.

Groot isn’t here now, but he will be. Rocket can feel it as he gently packs down soil and bends his head, mouth close to the stick and simply says, “Grow.”

There’s no reply. Rocket didn’t expect one. 

But there will be.

Rocket can wait.

~*~*~*~

 

Logically Gamora knows that Groot won’t be back. She doesn’t believe in miracles, how can she when she’s seen so much death? You die -- or you get blasted into thousands of sharp barky splinters -- and it’s game over.

There’s no point hoping or praying. All that matters is self preservation, and getting the things done that need doing, and that doesn’t include babying a twig stuck in a pot.

Except, somehow, Gamora’s doing just that.

She doesn’t know why. It makes no sense to keep checking the pot’s soil for moisture, especially as she doesn’t even know if Groot needs to drink. Yes, trees need water to survive, Gamora knows that, but Gamora hadn’t seen Groot do anything but walk, run, create havoc and smile -- always that smile.

So maybe he doesn’t need water, but Gamora’s giving it anyway, always careful that she gives just enough. Assessing and taking in each change day by day, and that’s why, despite knowing it’s illogical, that it just shouldn’t happen, Gamora knows Groot is on his way back.

The signs are there. Tiny leaves that Gamora touches with the tip of her fingers, a bud that swells and grows daily, subtle changes that Gamora takes in and records, logical facts nestled close to her heart.

And that’s the biggest change of all, because somehow, Gamora can _feel_ Groot, faint at first, but each time she secretly visits, the feeling is more. It’s the taste of earth at the back of her throat, the scent of cut grass that momentarily masks grease, metal and the scent of too many bodies in too small of a space. The fact that, each time she’s around Groot something falls into place, like the raw spot hidden deep inside is soothed by his presence.

Which is scary. Gamora doesn’t want to rely on anyone but herself. She’s forged her own life amongst chaos, clung to her sanity when she wanted to drop and give up, and now, suddenly, she’s part of a group. 

A group that shouldn’t work in the slightest, and yet….

And yet it feels right, and Gamora carefully pours in an exact measurement of water and says simply, “Thank you, Groot.”

~*~*~*~

Drax has done a lot in his lifetime. He’s survived great battles,and thrown himself headlong into fights. He’s pillaged and taunted and flown into trouble. What he hasn’t done is found himself with a group of new friends, looking after a plant.

What’s worse is, it’s a plant that’s driving Drax mad. He _knows_ that it’s moving, but no matter how many times he spins around. How often he tries to catch the plant in the act, he sees nothing. 

All Drax wants to do is take hold of that plant and destroy it. Soil scattered and stupid twig broken again. At least, that’s what he should do. It’s what the old Drax would do, but this new Drax? All he does is sit still and wait.

“I can see you,” Drax says, breaking the silence. “I know you’re moving.” There’s nothing. No hint of movement or whisper of sound. Frustrated, Drax spins in his chair and demands, “Move. I know that you can.”

Nothing, and Drax growls low in his throat, arms crossed over his chest as he thinks what to do. The plant is obviously taunting him, a great and clever foe in the form of a stick, and as annoying as that is, Drax can respect that.

He stares at the stick once again, letting things click into place. Until, no, he stares at _Groot_ once again, finally allowing himself to believe that this isn’t a stick or plant only, it’s the being that saved Drax’s life.

“You have won,” Drax says and then adds, “It is your victory… Groot.”

And it’s then Groot starts to dance.

~*~*~*~

His new friends, Peter suspects, are liars and assholes. Okay, sure, he knew that anyway with the whole foot and explosion and colossal pain while almost dying thing, but at least all that happened for a purpose. This Peter doesn’t get in the slightest. 

It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy a good joke -- unlike Rocket and his frankly over the top hissy fit when Peter swapped the hygiene gel for sugar syrup substitute. It’s not like Peter expected Rocket to be the first one into the shower, hell, Peter didn’t even know Rocket knew where it was. So yeah, this doesn’t make sense.

It’s why Peter’s pointedly not looking at Groot’s pot, or more correctly, the pot containing a stick of old Groot. Because, no matter what the others keep saying, Peter hasn’t seen signs of a new Groot.

Sure, the stick looks a bit bigger, and maybe it moves position at times, but that’s probably a build up of fur stuck to its bark or some kind of wood bloating due to excessive watering. It doesn’t mean that Groot is actually there, it’s just a stick, that’s all.

Of course, Peter wishes it wasn’t. More than anything he wants to see Groot, to say thank you for saving their lives, for being so selfless, for showing Peter that even in the darkness of space, beauty can still flourish.

Peter would do anything to see a light show right now. But he can’t, because that isn’t Groot, no matter how often the others keep saying and Peter keeps wishing. 

“Groot.”

The sound is faint, barely a whisper, but still Peter stops dead on his way out of the room. Barely breathing, he clutches his hands into fists and mentally lists all the causes. Feedback from his walkman, an echo from deep in the ship. His own imminent mental breakdown, delayed but still valid. 

“Groot.”

Peter hears it again, louder this time and despite wanting to turn he stays frozen. 

“I am…”

“Groot,” Peter says on an out breath, his heart racing as he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t a joke after all.

All he has to do now is turn and see for himself, but somehow he can’t. Peter’s already lost too much, and losing Groot once hurt enough.

“I told you. You idiots not believing.” Peter can hear the snicker of Rocket’s paws against the smooth metal floor of the corridor, a warning before suddenly, Rocket runs into view. “I told you!”

“You did,” Gamora says calmly, turning the corner with Drax close at her side. “And we believed you.”

Rocket snorts and looks up at Peter. “Some of you did. But I always said he was there. I could feel him.”

“As could I,” Gamora says, and then adds, “Groot was quite insistent at making himself known.”

“When he wasn’t playing dead,” Drax says, frowning as he looks past Peter. “You’re blocking the way.”

“I was about to eat.” Peter takes a step from the doorway, coming to a stop when nobody moves. “I’m hungry. Who wants warvel beetles? There’s a freeze pack in the hold.”

“It’s okay,” Gamora says, and Peter doesn’t get what she means, why she’s reaching out and touching his hand. “He’s there, let down your shields and you’ll feel him.”

“I’m not wearing my suit,” Peter says, deliberately misunderstanding as he tries to take another step forward, stopping once again when he feels sharp claws at his ankle.

“Listen you space-brained idiot,” Rocket says and then, “He’s there.”

“He is,” Drax agrees, and this is Peter’s crew talking, his _friends_ , and suddenly, he believes them.

Peter turns and Groot smiles.


End file.
